


Stop and Stare

by jusrecht



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Absolutely pointless fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: It wasn’t as if Walter von Schonkopf was unfamiliar with the concept of physical attraction.





	Stop and Stare

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in the fandom and of course it's about Yang :D
> 
> Schonkopf is DNT!Schonkopf, but Yang is possibly a mix of both DNT and OVA. Possibly.  
>   
> 

It wasn’t as if Walter von Schonkopf was unfamiliar with the concept of physical attraction.

 

In fact, he considered himself somewhat of an expert in the field. Being a physical person himself—and an attractive one at that—meant that he learned to view the world through the same lens. The extensive collection of his past escapades could form an entire encyclopaedia, and then some.

 

And yet, here he was, watching Yang Wen-li sleep. The man was sprawled gracelessly in his chair on the bridge, limbs bent all at awkward angles, mouth hanging open, and what suspiciously looked like drool peeking from one corner. The fact that there was absolutely nothing attractive about this sight was the worst part of it, Walter reflected with a sigh, mostly because in spite of it all, he _still_ couldn’t stop staring.

 

Clearly, his laws of physical attraction were faulty and in need of some amendment. Perhaps with an exclusion clause or two.

 

He was still mulling over this unusual development when some shift in the air, some change in the low hum of the ship, finally roused Yang from his sleep.

 

“Schonkopf,” he said, surprised, eyes blinking drowsily.

 

Walter had his usual laidback smile at the ready. “Welcome back, Admiral.”

 

“Ah.” Yang sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Apologies. I must’ve fallen asleep. Do you need me for something?”

 

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep here,” Walter pointed out instead of answering. They kept the temperature low on the bridge to keep the crew on duty alert. It was late, last shift of the day, and those unfortunate enough to earn their turn nodded in their station despite the cold. Yang should have retired hours ago.

 

“I was waiting for Admiral Sithole’s reply,” he yawned, reaching for his pad. “He said it was important. But nope, still nothing.”

 

“You could’ve waited in your room.”

 

“I always fall asleep in my room. Besides, I have a book– wait, where is it?”

 

Walter bent down to pick up the missing tome; a record of Hannibal and the Second Punic War. It had fallen under the chair, along with Yang’s beret. The younger man grinned, sheepish, when Walter handed them back to him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You’re not used to taking care of yourself, are you?”

 

“Is it that obvious?”

 

“You look the type,” Walter shrugged, casual. Or at least, he hoped it looked casual. “A girlfriend?”

 

Yang snorted. “No.”

 

“Boyfriend, then?”

 

“No.” This time, it made him laugh, the beret tilting precariously on his messy hair. “Nothing of the kind. It’s my ward, actually.”

 

“Huh.” It was unexpected. Walter vaguely remembered some mention of a teenage boy or other a while ago, but at that point he had been too enamoured by Yang’s pragmatic vision of peace to pay much attention to anything else. “Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? You taking care of your ward?”

 

“Yes, of course,” Yang admitted with a guilty sigh. “And I _do_ try to be a better parent figure. But sometimes I’m just hopeless.”

 

“That you are,” Walter agreed, if only to tease another smile out of Yang. “So, does that mean I have to talk to your ward first to get permission to court you?”

 

If the sudden question had caught the admiral by surprise, then he did not show it. “Court,” he hummed instead, tapping a finger thoughtfully on his chin. “Is that an imperial tradition?”

 

Walter rolled his eyes at this attempt to deflect his question. “I cannot care less about imperial traditions. A traitor, remember?”

 

Yang wrinkled his nose. “Not ‘traitor’. Say ‘a free spirit’.”

 

“A deserter, at least.”

 

“You were six. Deserting from the Galactic Kindergarten of Imperial Toddlers?

 

Walter grinned, a slow delight curling through him. “Careful, Your Excellency. If you insist on thinking the best of me, I might have to take it as a sign to be hopeful.”

 

“That would be problematic indeed,” Yang conceded, not missing a beat. There was a teasing edge to his smile. “But of course you must take it as you will.”

 

It was all Walter could do to stop himself from leaning down and kiss the other man. On one hand, he was at a loss on how to break this wall of nonchalance Yang insisted on keeping around him. On the other hand, he knew he had too much respect for Yang to resort to his usual methods.

 

_The long way, it is._

 

“How old is your ward?” he asked, leaning against the console.

 

Something like softness came to Yang’s expression. “Fifteen now.”

 

“What’s his name?”

 

“Julian.”

 

“Parents dead?”

 

“Both killed in the line of duty.”

 

“Of course,” Walter nodded. The same story populated news channels and military reports, thousands of times over. “And no relatives, I suppose. Real responsibility you have there.”

 

“He’s a great kid,” Yang said and there was real fondness in his voice. “Very responsible for his age too.”

 

“I bet, if he can take care of you.”

 

It earned him a small laugh. “Not very respectful, Captain. But, well, you have a point there.”

 

“He’s told you what he wants to do in the future?”

 

This time, Yang did not answer at once. He raised his face and gave Walter a long look instead, eyebrows arched. “Are you trying to court me or are you trying to court my ward?”

 

There were times for schemes and there were times for honesty; this, Walter decided, was one of the latter. “I’m trying to find a way to ask if I can kiss you.”

 

“Oh.” Yang paused, caught off guard. For the first time, his easy nonchalance faltered. “I see.”

 

“So?” Walter tried to keep his voice level, his expression devoid of the havoc that wreaked through him. This was ridiculous. He was thirty-two, an experienced man in every, _any_ level—and he was trembling when Yang raised his eyes to meet his gaze.

 

“So?”

 

“Can I?”

 

“Oh.” Yang blinked. He wore an innocent look that Walter didn’t trust in the slightest. “Weren’t you going to talk to my ward first?”

 

Walter slumped down with a groan. “You’re killing me here, Admiral.”

 

“That doesn’t sound good.” Yang was grinning—it was all over his voice. “We’re short of manpower as it is.”

 

Walter whipped his head up, staring. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

 

“Well.” There was a pause, and Walter decided that he didn’t want to hear anymore. Yang Wen-li could spin dreams out of nightmares; he could do it the other way around too, and so Walter kissed him proper and silent before he could switch one for the other. Yang made a surprised noise, soft, too low to catch anyone’s attention. His lips parted, tasting of stale tea and brandy, and all Walter could think of was he could certainly get used to it.

 

He pulled away, probably too soon, and Yang was clutching the front of his jacket. “I think that’s court martial at least,” the younger man muttered, eyes lowered, hidden by stray bangs now that his beret had once again been displaced.

 

Walter huffed, half a laugh, half a sigh. “I thought you needed me.”

 

“Not exactly in this capacity.”

 

“Maybe consider it a bonus?” He shifted slightly, careful not to touch Yang more than what the admiral took for himself. “I’m a really great kisser, you know. You’re not going to be disappointed.”

 

Yang laughed, but kept his head bowed. “That’s an idea,” he said, quiet as his head rested on Walter’s shoulder. “I will take it into consideration.”

 

It took Walter a few more agonising seconds to realise that Yang still refused to look at him not because he was offended. The weight on his shoulder was warm, perfect, like it belonged there—and if they were to encounter an enemy fleet right now, he knew he would die happy. (Except Yang would die too and _that_ did not settle well with him; not at all.)

 

“Yes, do that,” he said faintly. “Just don’t take too long, or I might have to do something drastic.”

 

Yang pulled away then, looking up. Walter couldn’t read his expression at all, and he was halfway into wondering whether their proximity was to blame when a gentle peck landed on his lips.

 

“Will that suffice for now?” Yang asked, demure, but there was laughter in his eyes.

 

Some part of Walter thought, _what have I got myself into,_ but the rest was too busy grinning to care.

 

**_End_ **


End file.
